Ghosts
by Lady StarFlower
Summary: There are always two ghosts. Then there was only one, and she was anything but an apparition. Mild Kylo/Rey. Post The Force Awakens.


There are always two ghosts.

The red one is constantly prowling about in his chambers, its black cape seeming to brush the floor as the commanding bass of its voice fills the room, low and laced with impatience even through the mouthpiece of its mask.

 _The Dark Side roils in you, my descendant. Blood of my blood, you have the strength to surpass them all but for your weak, Light-born hesitation. Conquer that fear, and you will raise empires!_

The crimson shadows stretch and loom all over the paneling of the rooms, painting the chamber scarlet, and the shrieking of the Force in his head grows unbearable. He clutches his head and screams, the light fixtures bursting overhead in an explosion of white sparks.

The guards, making their rounds outside, turn on their heels and retrace their steps in an unspoken agreement.

On the following evening, with his nightly meeting with his master, Kylo battles his projection with far more bite than usual, making the towering holo raise one mottled eyebrow.

"The Dark Side is strong in you tonight, my apprentice." His sibilant voice observes. "This is most progressive."

Kylo does not reply, but rather spins his lightsaber around in a whirling arc that knocks the projection several feet backwards. Snoke chuckles, the sound echoing and piercing Kylo's head with that same dark intent as the red ghost's. It hurt.

The red one visits the most often. Pacing around Kylo's rooms like some unbridled animal, his power akin to that of the fiery suns that the worldships would avoid for fear of burning out the eyes of their passengers; untouchable, terrifying, and yet the eternal source for breeding darkness.

He learns to worship the red one. He bathes in its praise, cowers at its reprimands, and soon he sees nothing but the redness of the Dark, and revels in the power, the _passion_ , the unutterable freedom of it all. The red is everywhere; crackling in his lightsaber hilt, pouring forth from the wounds of the filthy Rebels, and coating the walls of his room.

But…sometimes, very rarely…there isn't any hint of scarlet to be seen.

This second ghost isn't red. Rather, it is a soft, gentle shade of blue, the faint light casting an ethereal glow about his rooms like the gentlest of caresses. Its footsteps whisper across the room, so unlike the heavy thud of the red ghost's. White flowers are fastened in its flowing tresses, and its eyes are large and grieved.

 _There is still good in you._ Its voice is barely audible above the rumble of the ship's engines. _I know there's still good in you…._

Its presence is almost as painful as the red one's, although in a different manner entirely. If the red one was a white-hot brand, searing into his skull, then this one was a steady throb, pulsing in the very fiber of his being. It warps his insides until he feels utterly ill.

Thankfully, the blue one visits only rarely, when the rush of Dark Side power unexpectedly ebbs and leaves him feeling drained and exhausted. Only then does the blue one's glow fill his room, its luminescence enfolding him like a mother's embrace long forgotten.

But after he kills his father, the uncharacteristically tender touch of Han's hand stroking his cheek still haunting his dreams, the blue one never returns.

A new apparition appears.

She's not red or blue. Rather, she glows golden and strong, her radiance something proud and untouchable, a slice of blue sky erupting from her weapon's hilt. Her presence isn't terrifying or ethereal; she is smudged with sweat, blood, and dirt, her defiant eyes gleaming like twin suns from her face.

She is not a ghost.

She reaches out and grabs him by the neck, her mouth opening to taunt him just as she once did in realspace. _You._ She says in a low, smiling voice, _you're afraid. You're afraid that you will never be as strong as Darth Vader!_

Kylo shudders as he jerks awake, shaking with the power of the dream. His scar, that damned mark the filthy scavenger left on him, pulses with pain. He places trembling fingers on the stripe of red on his cheek, his gasps filling the hollow room with the sounds of his torment.

And galaxies away, on a planet dotted with craggy islands and frothing oceans, Rey bolts up from her blanket, chest heaving, her hand flying to her head to stop the sudden ache that had blossomed in her temple.

"Rey?" Luke peers at her from the doorway of the cave, his stormy eyes full of concern. "Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine." Rey shivers as the pain slowly creeps away, unconsciously stroking her cheek in a slicing pattern. "Everything's fine…"

The Force-touched do not sleep well that night.


End file.
